


Stumbling Phrases [Prequel/Standalone]

by ShastaFirecracker



Series: Florence 'verse [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Balthazar & Castiel (Supernatural) Friendship, Balthazar (Supernatural) is a Little Shit, Castiel's First Time With A Man, Escort Balthazar, Escort Service, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gentleness, M/M, Pansexual Balthazar, Sex Work, castiel can have nice things, castiel's gay awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15398418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShastaFirecracker/pseuds/ShastaFirecracker
Summary: A couple of years before Castiel Novak goes home with a green-eyed bartender for a one-night stand that changes his life, he buys a little time with a high-end escort named Balthazar. Still in the process of divorce and only recently out of the closet, Castiel is a virgin to his own sexual identity, and his intent is to rip that bandaid off all at once.Balthazar has no expectations for this assignment, but he soon discovers his client to be a sharp, funny, weary, determined man whom he can't help but fall into instant camaraderie with.





	Stumbling Phrases [Prequel/Standalone]

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A PREQUEL. It can be read as a standalone. The only relevant information is that Castiel was married to Amelia and Claire is their daughter.
> 
> Totally vanilla sexual content, but it's explicit. The only warning is that, although the Florence 'verse is very much Destiel, this story contains no Dean whatsoever. This takes place perhaps two years before the events of Before I Can Breathe Easy.
> 
> Behind-the-scenes writerly stuff is in the end notes.

_"I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before"_

\---

“I have a good feeling about this one,” says the man who goes by Balthazar, cracking open one of the eight-ounce bottles of sparkling water the company keeps chilled in the backseats of the cars. There's a fleet of vehicles and Balthazar has never found one to be less than fully stocked.

“You always have a good feeling,” says the driver, sounding as glum and irritable as ever. “Close to campus, apartment housing? Fat chick blowing her measly TA paycheck because no one'd take her to the homecoming gala.”

Balthazar's stomach turns at the man's attitude. “You're a cynic and a coward, Theo. Besides, Rachel said the caller was a man.”

“Uuf, even worse,” says Theo, turning at the stadium and heading through the no-man's-land of student housing. “Neckbeard, man bun, drinks Writer's Tears vodka, he's 'not like the other gays' 'cause he can't stomach rejection at a gay bar during Pride.”

The evening's been pleasant so far, marred only by this drive because Balthazar hates Theo with a burning passion. He was disgusted to see that Theo was the only driver available when Rachel asked if he could take the near-campus call, but he'd wanted the job bad enough not to wait for another driver to get back. She'd said the client was a single man who'd estimated two hours with no extras, no exotic locations, and Balthazar had leapt at it. As much as he'd enjoyed the _menage a_ – what was French for twelve? – a couple of nights ago, he's frankly been feeling a little run down, and the idea of a decent paycheck for a simple one-on-one engagement is awfully appealing.

And he really does have a good feeling about this one – no good reason why, only pure optimism. He enjoys his work; he wouldn't be doing it otherwise, he's not 'trapped in the life' by any means. He likes sex and being chauffered and having an endless free-flowing supply of champagne and San Pellegrino, and getting paid to essentially be himself. And, although he wouldn't admit it to the likes of Theo or even Rachel because he has a certain cavalier image to uphold, he _likes_ making people feel good. Not just orgasmically good, although he's no slouch in that department if he does say so himself, but he likes buoying the esteem of those clients with self-image or confidence issues who hire an escort and so often fall into immediate guilt about the decision. He legitimately wants to create good experiences for people who need them. That's how he finds the value in his job.

The value Theo finds in _his_ job is only measurable in dollar signs, and Balthazar judges him for that. He's a judgmental person; he makes no bones about it.

But Balthazar doesn't want to twist himself up into a bad mood before meeting a client, so he gives his best humorless, dismissive laugh, and suffers the rest of the trip in silence. As soon as Theo loops into the right parking lot, Balthazar kicks the back of the driver's seat and says, “Well, my boy, there's a reason I make the big bucks and you're not fit to be seen in company. I believe this is where I get off, in every sense of the word. I'll call; don't wait up.” He cracks the door, tosses the empty water bottle back into the car because it will drive Theo crazy, and steps out into the balmy summer evening.

He checks that he has his phone in his pocket and that it's fully charged, and reminds himself to ask Rachel to send someone else – _anyone_ else – to pick him up in a couple of hours. Rachel has texted him the address, and he double-checks the apartment number before lightly bounding up the stairs, feeling full of himself and fancy-free.

He knocks on the right door, tugs his t-shirt to be sure the heather v-neck shows plenty of chest, settles his black sport coat more precisely on his shoulders, and puts on his best rakish smile.

Footsteps, a lock tumbler turning over, and then – well, maybe he'd let Theo get a little too far into his head, because the first thing that strikes him is sheer surprise at the face that greets him. The man standing in the open doorway is gorgeous. Not a conventional ingenue, perhaps, but his lips look downright luscious and his espresso-dark hair doesn't know they haven't fucked yet. He's wearing a white dress shirt and slacks that don't fit well, so Balthazar can't really make out his build, but he's no heavier than Balthazar (and Balthazar does enjoy the fine dining his lifestyle enables).

“Well, hello,” Balthazar says, allowing himself a moment to take in the vision in front of him. He doesn't try to hide his interest; that would be counterproductive. “I'm from Heaven Sent; I'll be your entertainment this evening.”

The man visibly swallows. He stands in the doorway silently for a long beat, eyes wide, staring.

Ah, well. Theo might have been at least a little bit on point with his prediction that this one would have a few issues. Balthazar shifts his weight, slipping his hands into his pockets, and gentles his grin to something less predatory. “Perhaps you might invite me in?”

“Oh,” says the client, and clears his throat. “Oh. Yes. Um. Come in, please.” He steps back.

Oh, well, _there's_ a voice. The fine hair on Balthazar's arms prickles at the anticipation of what sounds he might wring out of those vocal cords. Balthazar steps inside, not brushing past the client as closely as he might with someone more eager, but not keeping a distance, either. People hire him for intimacy and there's no point avoiding it.

He waits until the client has closed the door (glancing briefly around – it's a clean place, small, filled with books and not much else in the way of décor) and then offers his hand. “Balthazar,” he says, smiling. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. - ?”

The man hurriedly wipes his probably-sweaty palm on his thigh and takes Balthazar's hand. His fingers are especially long and dextrous, Balthazar notes with interest. “Oh, I – I thought you had all my, um. Information.”

Certainly Rachel does, but Balthazar likes to make introductions on his own. “If there's anything you'd like to be called,” he says easily. “Or perhaps no names? Some find it preferable.”

The man's face goes a little pink. “No, I – it's fine. I'm Castiel.”

Balthazar grins. “Ooh, a suitably mysterious name for an evening of wild passions, yes?”

Castiel goes even redder. “No, it's – that's my real name,” he mumbles. “I know it's weird.”

Balthazar lets his grin ease into a softer expression. “Not at all,” he says. “It's as lovely as its owner.” Castiel huffs and looks to the side. “I'm sensing hesitation, Castiel. But I'm here, now, and whatever you called me for, it wasn't wrong of you to do it.”

Castiel looks directly at Balthazar, slightly startled, and in the strong interior lighting Balthazar can see for the first time how blue his eyes are - heavy and bruised with tiredness, but still striking. Oh, he's a catch, all right. If Balthazar can work him through this opening rough patch, this ought to be a couple of very enjoyable hours.

“I...” Castiel swallows again, and looks down. “I'm married,” he blurts, and Balthazar reigns in a frown. A glance at Castiel's hands shows no rings or ring-shaped tan lines. He doesn't particularly like being an unwitting homewrecker, but it's happened before. However, Castiel continues, “I mean, I was married. Still am, but – in the process of divorce. Because I'm. You know. This. And I just...” But he trails off.

Balthazar can't help but feel a little tug on his heartstrings. Bless this sad, beautiful, skittish creature. He takes a careful step forward, as if Castiel is an animal who might spook, and reaches out to lay a gentle hand on Castiel's arm. It stiffens under his touch. “Darling,” Balthazar says, “am I your first?”

Castiel's blush returns with a vengeance. “I'm not a virgin,” he says, sounding almost petulant, and Balthazar laughs. The sound seems to break some of Castiel's tension, because his expression eases and he closes his eyes for a moment, then blows out a breath. “Okay, yes. Sure. I've never slept with a man and dating is –” He shudders, and Balthazar immediately sympathizes.

“Oh, the gay scene in this town is downright provincial,” Balthazar says, touching Castiel's arm with more confidence now. He reverses his grip, to hold the back of the man's upper arm, and begins guiding him towards the living room sofa Balthazar can see from here. Castiel lets himself be led. “And you're mid-divorce, dear, no one can expect you to be a queer Casanova all of a sudden. It's hard.”

“Have you –?” Castiel asks, glancing over.

Balthazar sits on the couch, pulling Castiel down with him. “No,” he says. “Can't say I've had the pleasure of matrimony. But I have had my heart broken, if that's equivalent enough for you.”

Castiel sighs. “I – it is. My marriage is a long story. I don't... I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Absolutely not,” Balthazar agrees, leaning his elbow against the back of the sofa and crossing his ankle over his other knee, facing Castiel in an intimate, lounging pose. Castiel sinks into the couch cusions, looking at Balthazar with something between mortification and desperation. His tongue flickers briefly over his lower lip. “Talk to me,” Balthazar says, “about what you do want.”

A sharp inhale. Castiel slides his hands along his thighs to his knees, then back, gripping himself like he might fall apart. “I –” He stares at Balthazar's face for a moment, then drops his gaze to Balthazar's mouth. “I just...” His breathing picks up, but his words seem to be stuck.

Balthazar reaches his free hand over to Castiel's face and gently touches his thumb to Castiel's lower lip. The man looks about ready to cry at the contact. “Castiel,” Balthazar all but purrs, “would you like me to kiss you?”

Castiel's whole body twitches. He makes a tiny, helpless sound. Balthazar leans forward and puts him out of his misery.

At first the kiss isn't much to write home about. Castiel sits there and accepts it, and his lips are definitely plush and kissable, but even a good mouth can't make up for a poor kisser. But after a moment, Castiel seems to break free of whatever internal chains were keeping him trapped, and he surges into Balthazar's touch and kisses back with a ferocity and skill that belies his apparent fragility. Balthazar makes a startled, appreciative hum and puts his mission of “be gentle to the poor, closeted, mournful romantic whose world has collapsed” on the backburner in favor of the new mission, “explode this man's homosexual virginity until his internalized shame is just ashes on the wind.”

Balthazar didn't quite read a submissive vibe off of Castiel, just a certain self-shaming reluctance. So he doesn't try to take control, doesn't try to push Castiel back into the cushions or bite at his lips or anything. He kisses enthusiastically and deeply, humming when he feels like it, giving Castiel an honest moan or two when he earns it. He doesn't think Castiel would appreciate him being overly performative, so he leaves his bodice-ripper persona in his internal costume closet and just lets himself be... himself. It seems to be plenty for Castiel, who is downright trembling under Balthazar's hands as they roam his arms and neck and into his wild hair. Castiel tastes faintly of whiskey – no doubt a little liquid courage before calling the escort agency.

At last, Castiel breaks away, breathing hard, face blotchy with a heady concoction of emotions and desires. His lips are shiny and Balthazar brushes his thumb along the bottom one again, slipping against the damp.

“Fuck,” Castiel says, voice hoarse. “I'm so fucking gay.”

Balthazar bursts into a laugh. “So it would appear,” he says.

“I think – if I had ever kissed my wife like that, ever, I wouldn't be divorced.”

Balthazar smooths his palm along Castiel's jaw. “Clearly you got plenty of practice, nonetheless.”

“I would watch porn,” Castiel says, looking slightly glazed now, eyes raking over Balthazar's face and dipping to his collarbone. “And I would try – really try. But I remember I could only keep staring at the pizza man, and I'd never look twice at the babysitter.”

“Castiel, darling, you are so very fucking gay,” Balthazar says sincerely, eyes sparkling, and for the first time, Castiel's face breaks into a wide, gummy grin and he laughs, hand coming up to cover his mouth in embarrassment. “No, no, look at me,” Balthazar says, pulling his hand away. “You are an _unfairly_ attractive specimen. Look at you. I want to kiss every bit of sadness out of you. I do want to make you feel good, Castiel, if you'll have me.”

“I –“ Castiel stares at him, looking more awake and alive than he has been before this moment. “Yes, I want – I want everything.”

“A tall order,” Balthazar says, “but one I shall strive to fulfill. Would you care to defile your sofa or your bed?”

Castiel laughs again, putting his fist to his mouth. “Uh. Bed, I think.”

Balthazar stands smoothly, slips his sport coat off and lays it across the back of the sofa, then reaches down a hand to Castiel. He takes it and stands, looking a little dazed, but finally eager. Balthazar pulls him into another kiss, moving his hands to Castiel's waist. Under the too-big dress shirt he feels firm, and Balthazar can't wait to get a look.

“I really,” Castiel gasps when they separate for breath, “really like your stubble. That's – I kissed a boy once. High school.” He gestures at his own cheek. “Baby faced, both of us.”

“Mm,” Balthazar says, and kisses him again, licking into his mouth and dragging out a whimper. He moves to kiss along Castiel's jaw, being sure to press his five o'clock shadow into Castiel's neck, and the man shudders against him. “Where else would you like to feel that?” he murmurs. “Chest? Inner thigh, perhaps?”

“Oh,” Castiel says, an octave too high. “God. Bed is – back here.” He disengages from Balthazar with some difficulty and leads him back down a hall, pushing open a door to reveal a bedroom. Plain, like the rest of the apartment, but there's more signs of life in here – there's a desk with a laptop and a photo frame laid conspicuously face-down, more bookshelves, a bedside table with a scattering of papers, chapsticks, a clock. Also conspicuous is the tube of Astroglide on said table. Balthazar doesn't draw attention to it, but he does smile to himself, consistently finding himself endeared to this adorably determined man. He can't lie, the idea of being Castiel's gay awakening is a real boost to his ego, and he's glad as hell he ended up on this call.

Castiel stops short inside the door and turns to face him, looking a little scared again because, Balthazar imagines, the reality of having a willing male sex partner _in his bedroom_ is harder to wrap his head around than the hypothetical. Balthazar relieves him of the burden of thought by stepping forward, claiming Castiel's mouth and settling his hands on the other man's waist. After a gentle, lingering kiss, Balthazar murmurs, “At your own pace, dear.”

“Okay,” says Castiel. “Okay.” He leans in to kiss again, and puts his hands on Balthazar's torso for the first time, sliding palms down his flat chest to the bottom of his t-shirt and rucking it up to get his hands on skin. Balthazar slides his lips around to the hinge of Castiel's jaw, not hard enough to leave beard burn but enough that Castiel shivers and practically wilts in his arms.

Damn, the man is responsive. Balthazar wonders how robust his refractory period is, because this will probably be a session of sprints, not a marathon. He may pass out the moment Balthazar touches his dick.

Balthazar carefully raises his hands to the top of Castiel's shirt, trying not to startle him, and begins to undo buttons. Castiel's breathing picks up and his hands slide up Balthazar's torso, exploring the novelty of flat pecs and (reasonably) hard muscle (hey, he tries to get to the gym three times a week, but sometimes booze and sushi are a louder calling than fitness). Balthazar takes it as encouragement and works his way down Castiel's shirt, finally popping the last button and tugging the shirttails out of his slacks.

He looks down and can't help but hum appreciatively. He's a bit vain (most people who know him would protest at the qualifier 'a bit'), but he isn't too proud to admit that Castiel is definitely in better shape than he is. “Now, who's meant to be the professional around here?” he teases. “I have to work to be sexy, and you're there without trying.”

Castiel flushes and laughs nervously. “I'm not really...”

“You are –” Balthazar punctuates the sentiment with a kiss “– _damned_ attractive, and while modesty becomes you, shame does not.”

Castiel licks his lips, red in the face, and says, “You're also... very attractive.”

“Oh, I'm sure you tell that to all the boys,” Balthazar says, fluttering his eyelashes goofily, and Castiel's face crinkles up in a smile. “How do you feel about lying down and letting me take the time to get to know you better?”

“I, uh.”

“With my mouth,” Balthazar says. “And attendant stubble, my current greatest asset.”

Castiel mouths silently for a moment, then backs up to the bed, dragging Balthazar with him, and practically flings himself onto it, backing up until he's lying fully spread out, up on his elbows, shirt fallen open to expose toned, muscled chest and dusky nipples standing at attention.

“There's the eager beaver we want,” Balthazar says cheerfully. He pulls off his shoes and socks and then, knowing full well the effect it'll have, he strips out of his v-neck, stretching his torso like a cat. He can practically hear Castiel's mouth go dry. He climbs onto the bed and crawls over Castiel, using every ounce of lithe flexibility in his possession.

Castiel is finally in a position where Balthazar can take some control, move things along. As sweet as all these little Baby's First Touches are, Balthazar isn't going to spend all night tickling Castiel's abs and breathing heavily on his neck. There is an endgame here – perhaps several – and honestly, Balthazar is pretty sure Castiel will be able to think more clearly and participate better after at least one orgasm. But he does take the time to make the experience passably romantic; he kisses down Castiel's chest and applies plenty of attention to each nipple, making sure to give the man his fill of stubble scraping over shivering skin. He eases Castiel's shirt away and lets it fall to the floor before shifting his knees back on the bed and tugging lightly on Castiel's belt and fly.

“Is this all right?” Balthazar asks, dragging the leather through the buckle.

Castiel looks like he might shake right out of his own skin, and his eyes look suspiciously bright, but he sets his jaw and nods.

Balthazar slips the belt free, unbuttons and unzips, and tugs until Castiel raises his hips just enough to let Balthazar pull his slacks away entirely. He has plain white boxers underneath, tented by an obvious erection, and Balthazar raises an eyebrow, fingers on the elastic.

Castiel swallows. “Um,” he croaks. “You, too? First, maybe?”

Balthazar immediately shifts to his own waistband. “Only fair,” he says, grinning and opening up his jeans. His boxer-briefs are black and snug, in total opposition to Castiel. He doesn't make too much of a striptease of it, just slides his designer jeans and expensive underwear down his thighs and past his knees, dropping them off the foot of the bed once he's free. He settles back where he was, kneeling between the other man's knees, and runs his hands up Castiel's thighs.

“Fuck,” Castiel breathes. The muscles in his legs jump under Balthazar's touch. He's staring unabashedly between Balthazar's legs, mouth slightly open, looking _hungry._

“I shall choose to be flattered,” Balthazar says faux-magnanimously, “despite your lack of material for comparison.”

Castiel chuckles again, and Balthazar is fast finding that he wants to draw as much laughter out of Castiel as moans and curses. He leans forward and slides his hands up Castiel's thighs, under the loose boxers, all the way up to feel his hipbones and thumb into the creases along the tops of his legs. Castiel's grin slides away and his eyelids flutter instead. He licks his lips. “Are you...” He pulls in a deep breath. “Are you going to touch me sometime tonight?”

Ah! A sense of humor. Balthazar rewards him by drawing his hands out, taking Castiel's boxers and pulling them down without preamble. Castiel squeaks a little, bouncing his butt up to let Balthazar get the material free. “Ah, there you are,” Balthazar says, and slides his palm up the underside of Castiel's length before wrapping his fingers around the shaft and giving a long, slow stroke.

Castiel doesn't quite pass out, as Balthazar had semi-predicted, but he does seize and shudder all over as though his dick has never been touched before in his life, and the sound that comes out of him is absolutely delightful. The first touch coaxes out a healthy blurt of precome and Balthazar smears it over to ease the slide of his hand as he goes to work.

Balthazar's profession doesn't always require him to reciprocate his clients' arousal, and he certainly isn't feeling this encounter in the same raw, unfiltered, visceral way Castiel obviously is. But if there were ever a moment for Balthazar to get turned on at work, this is it. Castiel is a joy to pleasure, responsive and grateful in a way clients sometimes aren't, gasping for breath and looking at Balthazar with stars in his eyes. Balthazar has never felt quite so powerful with a client before, even ones who want him to dominate them. He's barely been taking stock of his own physical sensations, which is why it's kind of startling to realize that he's fully hard from the simple act of giving a handjob.

“Castiel,” Balthazar says, slowing his strokes from steady to glacial. “Talk to me, darling. What do you want?”

Castiel groans and pants, collapsing from his elbows to his back and putting his hands over his face. “I don't – I don't know.”

“I'd like to make you come,” Balthazar says. “Take the edge off, as it were. Unless you have a desperate, unspoken kink for orgasm denial.”

Castiel laughs breathlessly and shakes his head against the pillow, arm still over his face. His other hand clutches in his hair. “Please,” he says, and the single syllable is devastatingly sexy.

“For asking so politely,” Balthazar says, and leans down to lick up Castiel's shaft.

Castiel yells and bucks his hips up, arms flailing every which way to brace himself. Balthazar wonders briefly about neighbors, amused, and licks again while Castiel whimpers, taking his time to get the shaft good and wet before wrapping his lips around the head.

“God,” Castiel babbles, “fuck, fuck, please do th-THAT keep doing th-th – oh, fuck me, fuh _uck_ me, I'm -”

Balthazar wasn't timing it but his money's on less than ninety seconds from tongue contact to orgasm. He pulls off in time – Castiel's climax was thoroughly telegraphed by his seizing muscles and the knees squeezing Balthazar's sides, which he doesn't think Castiel realizes he's doing. He strokes Castiel through the high, white splashing all the way up Castiel's chest in thick ropes. Castiel sucks in a breath that sounds like a sob, but his eyes are dry.

“Shh,” Balthazar says, letting go of Castiel's cock and stroking along his sides and thighs instead, easing his shaking legs apart, massaging some of the fluttering tension out of his muscles. Who knew someone could still be so tightly wound after coming their brains out? “That was quite the display,” Balthazar jokes, and strokes a finger up Castiel's chest, smearing through an impressive load of come. “Let me clean you up a bit and we'll talk a moment, all right?”

Castiel nods shakily, and puts a hand over his face.

There's a box of tissues on the bedside table. Balthazar grabs a handful and wipes all the mess away, balling the tissues into a wad. He eases off the bed, ignoring his own erection, and heads towards the bathroom he spotted one door down on their way in here.

Tissues disposed of and hands washed, he loops around to the living room to fetch the slim toiletry case from his coat pocket that he'd forgotten earlier. He sidelines into the kitchen but finds no bottled water in the fridge – ech, a clear sign _he_ doesn't live here – but he scrounges up a small drinking glass, and returns to the bedroom with tapwater and a smile. He sets the glass and zip-up case down on the bedside table and climbs onto the bed with Castiel again, lying down alongside him, pressing their bodies together.

Castiel doesn't emerge from behind his covering hands.

“Castiel,” Balthazar says, gentle but wheedling.

Castiel makes a discomfited groan.

“Cassie,” Balthazar says, teasing.

The next groan is more definitely negative.

“All right, not Cassie,” Balthazar laughs. “Come out of there and look at me, will you? You'll give a man a complex.”

Castiel drags his hands down his face and rests them on his chest.

“What's wrong?” Balthazar asks, propping himself up on one elbow, head in his hand, and sliding his fingers up Castiel's chest to take one of the man's hands in his.

“Oh, you know,” Castiel says faintly. “Just mortified.”

“Why?”

Castiel clears his throat awkwardly. “Going off faster than a pop rocket?” he says sarcastically. “Embarrassing myself in front of my new prostitute friend?”

Balthazar snickers. “The politically correct term is sex worker, dear, but I myself am not especially political nor correct most of the time, and I was calling myself a whore long before I joined the world's oldest profession.”

Castiel laughs ruefully. He lays there in silence for a long moment. “I have a child, you know,” he says, finally.

“Oof,” Balthazar says with a wince. “Not secretly mine, I hope.”

Castiel laughs more honestly. “Stop that. I mean – I helped conceive life, which is what, you know, I was raised really believing was the only purpose to sex, but that, that was a tricky one to coax out. I wasn't sure how many more I had in me before she conceived. And I know you _can_ have sex while pregnant, but it was a, uh. An awfully convenient excuse not to.”

Balthazar can't relate to this in the slightest, being as pansexual as the day is long, and having never even remotely considered the possibility of children. But he can at least sympathize with Castiel's tone, and appreciate his honesty and openness.

“I was starting to think I was incapable of being turned on,” Castiel says. “Ame – my wife actually, um, asked if I should see a doctor. But. Uh. Clearly I'm just... extremely fucking gay.”

Balthazar laughs lightly, running his thumb along Castiel's collarbone. “Let me assure you,” he says, “you are not remotely ill or broken. You are – let's say, simply experiencing a late teenagehood. Consider me your fumbling foray with a high school sweetheart.”

Castiel shudders. “I'd rather not,” he says, rolling his head to the side to look Balthazar in the eyes. “Like I said... I very much enjoy your stubble. And accent. And... everything.”

Balthazar gives an exaggerated, pleased little shake of his shoulders. “Ooh, you do make me feel handsome.” He disentangles his hand from Castiel's and slides it down his chest and stomach, over the crease of his thigh, into the dip between his legs. His penis is soft against Balthazar's knuckles, but he doesn't touch Castiel there, merely massages gently into the firm muscle of Castiel's upper thigh. “Is your head a little clearer now?”

Castiel nods, but sucks in a sharp little breath. “Maybe not for much longer if you keep doing that.”

“That's the plan.” But Balthazar lets go and pushes himself up, and says, “Come on, up-sy daisy, dear boy. Drink this, hydration is your friend.” He hands over the glass of water when Castiel sits up, and Castiel eyes him but drinks it in two swallows.

“This room service is obscenely expensive,” Castiel says, lips twitching in a half-smile.

Balthazar laughs, loud and honest. He really, really likes this client. He's refreshingly unbothered by the fact that Balthazar's presence is a paid service – too many clients, especially the neurotic, semi-closeted ones, hate any tiny reminder that Balthazar is a sex worker and not their One True Love. And a whole other category of client are prone to fetishize Balthazar's profession. Balthazar doesn't catch even the slightest whiff of judgment from Castiel.

“Now, Cassie –“ Castiel glares “- I do know I have a clever, filthy mouth on me, but you've got me for another hour and a half at least, and I'm sure there are some more fantasies bouncing around that pretty head of yours.” He taps two fingers against Castiel's forehead. “Let's have a dig around in there, shall we? Are you up for a little dirty talk, or shall I just start experimenting until we find what gets your motor running?”

Castiel licks his lips nervously. “At the moment, I think everything,” he says ruefully. “I swear I'm a little more discerning than this.”

Balthazar snickers. “Well, it certainly makes my job easier that I can turn you up to eleven with a dirty look, but I'm sure you have actual specifics in mind. You seem the planning sort.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and nods. “Yes. Okay. Earlier – thinking about it logically, earlier, I had decided I would only ask for acts mutually exclusive with female anatomy, since the whole point of this exercise was to experience gay sex. But I didn't realize it would all be so –“ He takes a shaky breath. “I mean, I've had blowjobs before. I didn't know it would feel so _different._ ”

Balthazar snorts. “First of all, I feel honor-bound to inform you that a significant number of women in the world have penises. And secondly, I must break the news to you that having sex with a man is gay as hell no matter what acts you engage in.”

Castiel goes red. “I know,” he mutters, raising a hand to his face again. “It was stupid to think -”

“Oh, dear, no, come back out of there,” Balthazar says, pulling Castiel's hand down and holding his wrists. He lowers his voice to a smooth, almost hypnotic tone. “Use your words, Castiel. Everything is on the table. I could blow you again, let you have the time to really savor it. I could give you a massage, bleed all that tension out of you, and bring you off so well it lasts minutes. You could suck me, if you like.” Castiel's breath catches, giving Balthazar a loose strand of this particular sweater to tug. “Yes? A nice, fat cock in your mouth? It doesn't feel like anything else. You know, you haven't touched me yet, and it's impossible not to see how badly you want to.” Castiel makes a choked noise, drawing deep breaths and staring hard. Balthazar draws Castiel's hand to his mouth and delivers a deliberate, sensual kiss to his knuckles. “Would you like to touch me inappropriately? Because I wouldn't object. You have very nice hands.” He kisses again, draws his tongue between two knuckles, then slips Castiel's index finger into his mouth.

Castiel sucks in a steadying breath and licks his lips. “Anal intercourse,” he blurts suddenly, voice rough but blunt. “I've never – I'd like to. Receiving, specifically.”

Balthazar chuckles and pops the finger out of his mouth. “Your dirty talk could use some work, dear.”

Castiel's eyelid twitches, but he sets his jaw. “Is that – not done? Or what the woman on the phone called an extra? I have a budget I need to abide by as best I can, but -”

But Balthazar is already laughing, interrupting him. “No, no, it's not an extra, it's frankly adorably vanilla, and very much something we can do. Extras are things like wanting me to piss on you or put my whole arm up your arse, or bring along my rope kit so I can perform a bit of CBT.”

Castiel's mouth is slightly agape and he looks horrified. “CBT?” he asks faintly.

“Cock and ball torture,” Balthazar says cheerfully. “Not your scene, darling. I promise, I shall be nothing but loving and gentlemanly to your family jewels.”

“I wasn't sure,” Castiel says faintly, “if it was... particularly difficult, or needed time to work up to, or... I don't know.”

“Well, we have the time,” Balthazar says, leaning forward and putting his hand against Castiel's rough cheek. “And it isn't difficult, especially not when you want it very much. All it takes is lubrication and patience, and any horror stories you may hear are almost guaranteed to be down to a lack of one or the other.”

Castiel's face clears with relief and, if Balthazar isn't mistaken, hopefulness. He's gazing at Balthazar with an intensity that says he's definitely recovered enough to be up for round two. His tongue flickers out to touch his plush lips. “Will it hurt?” he asks quietly.

“It will feel odd, at first,” Balthazar says honestly, wrapping his fingers around the back of Castiel's neck and sliding his other hand down to tease a nipple. “But it won't hurt, not if I do my job well. And I take great pride in doing my job well.” He leans in to close the distance between their lips. After a long, heated kiss, he pulls back to murmur, “Thoroughly,” punctuates himself with another kiss, “deeply,” another kiss, “and to your absolute satisfaction.”

Castiel looks dazed when Balthazar finally pulls back to give him room to breathe, but after a moment he grins and says, “Or my money back?”

“You are a little shit, aren't you,” Balthazar says wonderingly. “No, I'm afraid I come with a no-refunds satisfaction guarantee.”

“Good enough,” says Castiel, smiling, and for the first time he initiates contact by claiming Balthazar's mouth again.

Balthazar meets his enthusiasm beat for beat, enjoying the intensity and consideration Castiel pours into every tiny movement. He lets Castiel guide them both back to the center of the bed, horizontal and flush, and when Balthazar deliberately moves to align their cocks and rolls his hips in a slow, sensual grind, Castiel gives a beautiful groan but doesn't fall into unintelligible desperation like last time. Balthazar keeps up the slow grind for a while, nibbling along Castiel's jaw and teasing his earlobe, licking into his clavicle; he has no objection to Castiel's hand clutching and spasming in his hair, or the man's hands all over his back and chest and down to his ass, pulling their hips impossibly closer, trailing his finger between Balthazar's cheeks.

“Perhaps next time, darling,” Balthazar says, surprised at his own breathlessness.

Castiel's head presses back against the pillow with a faint moan, exposing an enticing length of shadowed neck, which Balthazar immediately sets to tasting. “So are we doing this?” Castiel gasps, rolling his head to let Balthazar have more access. “Because if you keep going I'm just going to embarrass myself again.”

Balthazar laughs, nipping one last time at Castiel's pulse point. “Setting the mood, sweetheart,” he says. He stretches out to reach his small leather case, and unzips it. It contains a variety of condoms, gloves, diaphragms, wet wipes, and packets of lube, as well as travel-sized mouthwash and a foldable toothbrush. “Unfortunately I must interrupt said mood with a couple of less than sexy items of housekeeping. Do you have any contact allergies that you know of? Latex, any lubricant brands you avoid?”

Castiel blinks and licks his lips, then manages to refocus some power to his upstairs brain. He shakes his head.

“Excellent.” Balthazar pulls a couple of items out of his case and closes it again, but leaves it within easy reach. He shows Castiel the pale blue latex glove and begins pulling it on. “I don't go bare,” he says gently, settling the glove along his wrist but being sure not to snap it. “And I know this isn't quite as sexy as porn would have you believe, but I hold hygiene in high esteem.”

But Castiel doesn't look at all perturbed, and nods. In fact, he looks mildly relieved. “I did, um. Wash.” He clears his throat. “But I – that's fine.”

“The implication is certainly not that either of us are dirty,” Balthazar says, putting his gloved hand on Castiel's knee and leaning down to take another kiss. “Or that the act is, morally or metaphorically speaking.”

Castiel huffs a laugh against his lips. “I don't need the sales pitch, I'm on board.”

“Very good,” Balthazar purrs against his mouth, and settles between his knees, picking up a packet of his favored lube and tearing it open.

Balthazar uses his bare hand to gently massage Castiel's abdomen and occasionally stroke his cock, which is already rock-hard and straining against his stomach again, while he slips his gloved, lubed fingers between Castiel's cheeks, finding his hole and stroking his fingertips against it, circling, pressing gently. Castiel whimpers and arches up, not sure what to do with his hands; eventually he puts them above his head, one trembling fist pressed against the headboard and the other hand white-knuckling his opposite wrist. Balthazar slides his slick thumb against Castiel's perineum at the same moment he draws his fist firmly up Castiel's dick, and the man gives a pained cry, jerking his hips up so hard he nearly jostles Balthazar off.

“Would you turn over for me?” Balthazar asks, withdrawing both hands. Castiel hums in acknowledgment but it takes him a moment to actually coordinate his muscles enough to do as asked. He flips on shaky arms, adjusting his dick before he can lie flat, but as soon as he's able to fold his arms under his pillow bury his face in the soft cotton a lot of the tension eases out of his back. “Just relax,” Balthazar soothes, kneading the globes of Castiel's toned ass in both hands. “Give it time. Tell me how you're feeling, if you need me to stop, or if you're too close to coming.” Against the pillow, Castiel nods.

For a whole dreamlike half-hour Balthazar works in lube and fingers, massaging Castiel's cheeks and rim with slick touches, fingering him in deep, slow strokes that have him moaning wantonly, muffled by the pillow. Balthazar kisses down Castiel's spine while he works in the second finger, and eases his legs wider to nip and tease his stubble along Castiel's inner thighs, as promised, while he seeks out the man's sadly neglected prostate. He knows he's found it when Castiel's whole body tenses and quakes, and Balthazar pauses long enough to ask, “Was that the earth moving I felt?”

Castiel sucks in a labored breath and raises his face long enough to grate out, “You're a little shit too, aren't you?”

“You wound me!” Balthazar exclaims, grinning. “And I have you in an extremely compromising position, my young man. I'd be careful what I say.” He finds the bundle of nerves again and strokes firmly.

Castiel shudders, clenching fists around handfuls of bedding. With obvious difficulty, he says, “Don't – don't do that. Not right now.”

“Too close?” Balthazar asks.

Castiel nods.

“Don't worry, darling, I swear I won't leave you tonight without having fucked you into next week.”

Castiel makes a high, wounded sound and drops his face back into the pillow.

At three fingers he tenses and Balthazar adds more lube, stroking his lower back, murmuring soothing endearments. “Relax, sweet. Talk to me. Good or bad?”

“Good, I think,” Castiel tells his pillow, arching his hips up. “Good, more, please.”

Balthazar pushes past the tension, easing his fingers in and out in steady, shallow jabs, and some resistance in Castiel's spine seems to untether and release, and within moments he's writhing against the bed, shoving back onto Balthazar's fingers, hungry for the intrusion. He moans long and loud into his pillow, hiking his hips up to get away from the mattress, and Balthazar reaches under him to grip the base of his cock with a quick vise hold. Panting, ass up, head down, Castiel turns his face into his shoulder and moans again, muffled. Balthazar thinks he's biting his arm.

“That's it,” Balthazar tells him, slowing his strokes but leaving all three fingers inside, deep. He simply twists them. “That's what we want.”

“Now,” Castiel pleads, voice too high. Upside-down and through his legs, Balthazar sees a droplet slide from the tip of Castiel's nose to darken the pillow. “Please now, please.”

“You are just the politest thing,” Balthazar says sweetly, withdrawing his fingers. “Shall I have you like this, or would you like to turn over again?”

Castiel immediately flips over, collapsing onto his back with a powerful exhale. His face is shiny – Balthazar chooses to believe from sweat, although he doesn't discount the possibility of tears; he's had clients cry on him before, and it isn't his favorite thing – and his wild, mussed hair is finally appropriate for the circumstances.

Balthazar strips the glove off inside-out, tosses it aside and retrieves a condom. He has himself covered and lubed in seconds with the efficiency of long practice, and he crawls up to slot himself neatly between Castiel's legs, spreading them wider around Balthazar's hips. “Breathe for me,” he tells Castiel, meeting the man's glazed eyes and tapping his cheek lightly until he focuses. “Yes, here, hello. Remember to breathe.”

Castiel nods, takes a steadying breath, and wraps his arms around Balthazar's shoulders and neck.

He definitely forgets to breathe as soon as Balthazar pushes in. The glide is smooth and open, but there's no denying that virgin tightness, and Balthazar knows how different a cock feels from a few fingers. He's no monster, himself, but he's decently endowed, and when he settles his hips flush to Castiel's ass, he can say with certainty that Castiel has never had anything in him so deep before.

The saltwater streaks down Castiel's face are most certainly more than just sweat, and Balthazar leans down to capture the man's mouth in a deep kiss so he doesn't have to watch him cry. Castiel can hardly respond, rendered entirely insensible in the moment, until Balthazar oh-so-slowly rolls his hips back an inch and then back forward.

The hand against the back of Balthazar's head suddenly, reflexively clutches, pulling a few strands loose with stings that make Balthazar wince. He's sure Castiel didn't mean to, confirmed a moment later by a sound approximating apology and Castiel pulling his head down to kiss again. Balthazar indulges him, licking into his mouth while he gradually increases the depth and pace of his thrusts.

Finally, Castiel draws his legs fully up around Balthazar's waist and locks his ankles at Balthazar's lower back, and brings a hand to his own face. He scrubs his palm over his cheeks and up his forehead, gathering a handful of tangled dark hair, and presses his head back into the pillow. “Fuck me,” he says, in a voice like the darkness and pressure at the bottom of the sea. “Really fuck me, Balthazar. Please.”

The tone of the order – not forceful, almost weary, but so committed and trusting and absolute, like a commander asking soldiers to lay down their lives – momentarily takes Balthazar's breath away. He's generally able to control his own arousal, decide when to come, but something about that moment has him spiralling unwillingly close to the edge. He's been laser-focused on Castiel's pleasure, his nuances and reactions, that it had hardly occurred to him how astonishingly wonderful Castiel feels clenched around him, or how beautiful the man is, or the particular buttons his deep voice pushes in Balthazar's psyche.

He makes himself think about drinking unfiltered pond water, and it does the trick to pull him back from the brink. Taking a quick, shaky breath, he sits up, resettles his knees behind Castiel's thighs, tilts his hips into a better angle, and begins to truly deliver.

Castiel's eyes immediately fly wide open, then squeeze shut, and the needy, heartrending, _wrecked_ sounds coming out of him are music to Balthazar's ears. He finds Castiel's prostate – the man bows up, mouth open on a silent scream – and maintains his angle, thrusting fast and steady but not trying to break any records or leave any bruises. Castiel's cock is leaking a near-constant stream of precome, puddling and smearing on his stomach when the rocking makes his length slap back against his skin.

“Talk to me,” Balthazar says, knowing it's unfair to ask Castiel to form words. He holds one of Castiel's knees and slides his other hand up Castiel's leg to his hip, pushing against the grain of dark hair.

Castiel makes a few stuttering sounds, perhaps attempts at speech, but they end on a wail of a moan and his hands going back to brace against the headboard so he can push to meet Balthazar's thrusts even harder.

“Fair enough,” Balthazar laughs. He wipes a sheen of sweat from his forehead, reaches down and takes Castiel's cock in hand.

_“Fuck,”_ Castiel yells. “I'm – I'm -”

“Yes,” Balthazar pants, “I should be offended if you weren't.”

Castiel sobs.

“Let go, darling, I've got you.”

One last stroke of Balthazar's thumb under the cockhead and Castiel stiffens, lower lip bitten hard enough to bruise, and he tightens deliciously around Balthazar's length while he comes about as hard as Balthazar's ever seen (and he's seen a lot). Balthazar eases back on the pace, leaning forward over Castiel and changing his angle enough to no longer be pounding his prostate, and he milks the last of the aftershocks from Castiel's cock while the man blinks, teary-eyed, at the ceiling, and remembers how to breathe.

“All right?” Balthazar asks gently. He comes to a gentle halt inside Castiel but doesn't pull out just yet.

After a moment, Castiel nods. He sucks in a deep breath, sniffs hard, wipes his wrist under his nose and his palm under his eye. “I'm all right.”

“All you dreamed it would be?”

“I hadn't dreamed,” Castiel says, still staring at the ceiling. “I never wished for things that couldn't be. What was the point.”

“Maudlin isn't a good look on you,” Balthazar says, reaching up to pat Castiel's cheek. It turns into a caress, and Castiel leans into the touch, closing his eyes. “I'm going to pull out and it's going to feel strange. It might twinge.” Castiel nods acknowledgment and Balthazar eases out, strips off the condom and grabs a tissue to wrap it in. Castiel lowers his legs, wincing. “There you are, you're fine,” Balthazar murmurs, moving so their legs are staggered, only one of his knees between Castiel's, so that Castiel doesn't have to spread wide to accommodate Balthazar's hips.

Balthazar stretches over Castiel and presses a kiss to his bitten lips. Castiel kisses back with sated laziness, bringing a hand to the back of Balthazar's head in an apologetic caress for the earlier hair-pulling.

Castiel's leg bumps Balthazar's insistent erection and he hums, pulling back from the kiss. “Are you, um... or do you not? With... at work, I mean.”

Balthazar cracks a smile and props his head up on his elbow by Castiel's shoulder, putting their faces intimately close together. “Not always, with clients, no. A man can only do so much.” Castiel snorts faintly. “But it's not against my personal policy. Do you want me to?”

Hesitantly, Castiel nods. His tongue touches his lips. “I haven't really... touched you.”

Balthazar shifts a bit to the side, takes one of Castiel's hands and guides it between his legs. “I'm awfully close as it is,” he tells Castiel in a low murmur, as the man wraps his hand around Balthazar's dick with unhesitating firmness. “You felt incredible. The sounds you make -” Castiel starts stroking him, changing his grip and experimenting with pressures, and his tongue darts out between his lips in an adorable display of fascinated concentration. He's good, and he learns fast. A handful of strokes has Balthazar spiralling. “Your voice is a gift,” Balthazar says, leaving Castiel's hand alone to work and pressing his thumb along the man's collarbone instead. “I could have pressed on after you finished, it wouldn't have taken long. Tight little – _ah_ – little arsehole squeezing me just right, so wet and op- _eehhhhn,_ all right, I take your point, hand's just as good as – hh, _fuck,_ yes, Cassie, that's -”

Castiel growls, “Don't call me Cassie,” and Balthazar's vision goes spotty as he comes all over Castiel's hip. It isn't a thing of legend, perhaps, but it's a respectable orgasm that leaves Balthazar breathing hard and feeling giddy, pleasantly tingly down to his toes, and he laughs.

“Oof,” he says, flopping down next to Castiel. “You opened the door and I swear one of the first thoughts I had was how lovely your hands are.” He pulls the offending extremity up to his face for inspection. “Mm, even lovelier made filthy.”

He's too close to really tell, but he thinks he can feel Castiel blushing hard.

Balthazar reaches for his travel case and takes out a wet wipe. “So,” Balthazar says conversationally, cleaning come from between Castiel's fingers. “How would you rate anal intercourse, then, now that you've tried it?”

Castiel puffs out a breath. After a moment he says, “Nine out of ten. Room for improvement.”

“Ouch,” Balthazar says, with no heat. “And here I was aiming to break the scales.”

“You may have broken me.”

“I doubt it, I think you're a resilient sod.” Balthazar leans up again and kisses Castiel lightly. “You aren't broken now and you never were, darling.”

Castiel grins a little, giving Balthazar a fond, slightly exasperated look. “I do have a therapist for that sort of thing,” he says.

“Oh, thank God. I give terrible life advice.”

Balthazar isn't much of a cuddler, but he wraps his arm around Castiel's chest and settles for a few minutes of cool-down. He fills the silence with idle pillow talk, asking what Castiel does for fun, talking about books and college, explaining that the story of his move from London to California was tragically dull (he was a teen and his family moved for his mother's work), sharing a little about how the life of an escort works because Castiel's curiosity about it is refreshingly open.

After a while, Balthazar hears a faint chiming and wrinkles his nose, sitting up. “Where the hell are my trousers.”

Castiel laughs. “A frequent question of yours?”

“Perhaps the most universal question there is. Ah.” Balthazar crawls to the end of the bed to retrieve his phone from his jeans, and clicks the alarm off. He moves back up next to Castiel but doesn't lie down, just leans over and kisses him as kindly as he can. “Fifteen minute call, darling,” he says. “What else can I do for you?”

Castiel sighs and says, “Too tall an order even for you to fill, I think.” But he says it with a warm smile.

“You're going to be fine,” Balthazar promises him, carding fingers through his damp, dark hair. “I'm not much for romance, Castiel, but it seems to me that you're built for it. If the universe doesn't deliver Mr. Right to you one of these days, let me know and I shall find some cosmic power to petition for your honor.”

Castiel's face crinkles into one of his rare wide smiles. “You are the strangest escort I've ever hired. But thank you.”

Balthazar leans down and presses one last kiss to his mouth. “Do a couple of things for me, all right? Eat a little something with protein in it when I'm gone. If you feel guilt creeping in around the corners, tell it I said to fuck off. And if you call the agency again down the line, feel free to ask for me.”

“All right,” Castiel says quietly.

Balthazar nods, satisfied, and stands and stretches. He can feel Castiel's eyes on him while he walks around the bed unselfconsciously, pulling his clothes back on, tucking his travel case into a back pocket, gathering up the trash and depositing it in a bin he spots under the desk. Castiel rolls to his back and finally over to the side of the bed to sit up, toes curling against the floor.

At last, Balthazar tucks one hand into a pocket, thumb out, and rests the other against Castiel's cheek. “It was my absolute pleasure to meet you, Cas.”

Castiel's lips twitch up. “Better,” he says.

“Ah, the warm glow of your approval!” He pats Castiel's cheek one last time and drops his hand. “Take care, darling.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, looking up at him with heartbreaking sincerity.

Balthazar gives his best rakish grin, turns and sweeps out of the apartment, picking up his coat on the way.

The night is bright with streetlamps and passing headlights. He takes a deep, cleansing breath of warm air that smells of manzanita, dust, and hot pavement, and pulls out his phone to text Rachel to send a car and finalize the payment transaction for a two-hour charge. Three hundred an hour. If Castiel does call and request him specially in the future, Balthazar will probably cut him the return-customer discount rate he doesn't usually offer until the third appointment. He doesn't want the poor man to break the bank over a few decent fucks, and it won't make any particular dent in Balthazar's healthy pocketbook.

But, as he idly strolls down the sidewalk towards the edge of the neighborhood, he doesn't expect another call too soon. Six weeks at least, he guesses. His impression of Castiel is one of practicality, determination, self-restraint. It will likely take him time to find his way back into the dating scene, and in the meantime he may seek out physical relief again, but Balthazar doesn't doubt he'll end up in a serious relationship eventually. Balthazar can offer a healthy dose of compassion along with a night of fun, but not the real love and companionship that Castiel so clearly craves.

Maybe in another life, or at another time in this one, Balthazar could have fallen for him or someone like him. But he feels no need to change his circumstances, no urge to entangle his life with someone else's. If he wants a change, he'll make one. But not now.

His phone pings that his ride is near. As soon as the discreet navy car pulls alongside the sidewalk, he peers through the windshield at the driver. He'd completely forgotten to warn Rachel not to send Theo, but he's in luck – it's Adina.

He pops the back door and slides in with a sigh of contentment. “Bless,” he says. “I was afraid our resident prom date reject would be back.”

“Theo's going to lock you in the trunk and drive you off a cliff someday,” Adina says, pulling away from the curb. “Where to?”

“The mothership, I think.” Balthazar taps around on his phone. “It's a full moon, so I've a midnight appointment with Madame R, but I don't think I'll take any more calls before then unless there's a crunch.”

“Madame... oh, that's the one who does, what, sex magic?”

Balthazar grins. Madame R is a slightly kooky middle-aged Scottish woman, overly energetic, sweet enough and seemingly harmless, who runs a “magic” shop out of her home. Her true believer customers often purchase “spells” from her. Certain types – love spells, mainly – she claims need to be powered by carnal energy while she concocts them. Balthazar finds her hysterical, and was perfectly thrilled to sign on to be one of her regular “batteries.” She wouldn't be too pleased to know that he already spent some of his, ahem, carnal energy once tonight, but he's fairly confident he can follow through for her. He'll think of wild dark hair and blue eyes.

“She's a professional witch,” Balthazar chides. “Who am I to question if magic is real?”

Adina chuckles. “You're in a good mood.”

“Theo notwithstanding, I've had an exceptionally lovely evening.”

“Magical, you might say?”

“Don't push it.” Balthazar leans his head back against the seat, closes his eyes, and smiles. “Just drive, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's the fic 'verse that never ends! It just goes on and on, my friends.
> 
> I keep trying to work on other things that are more plotty and/or serious, and for one reason or another they get stuck, so I end up falling back into the realm of fluffy smut because it flows so much more easily. Even though I said I had walked away from the Florence 'verse - and I have, as far as major plot points - it's still always bouncing around in my head, and when I'm fighting writer's block it's always the cozy headcanon blanket I wrap myself in.
> 
> I know this installment could potentially disappoint folks because of the lack of Dean. That being said, I had such a strong mental image of this 'verse's Balthazar all the way back when I wrote Who Is The Lamb, and I was always kind of disappointed that there wasn't any structural place to add him in. Then I happened to be rewatching the show (coincidentally around season 6) and binging on fic (several of which coincidentally featured sex work), and as has been the case with every installment of Florence, dialogue started writing itself in my head and demanding to be typed.
> 
> For those blessed readers who have read the whole 'verse, are still around, and may be interested in discarded plot trivia, here are a few Balthazar-ish things that are true of this 'verse but which will likely never be written:
> 
> -Gabriel, via Casa Erotica, works pretty closely with Heaven Sent, the escort agency. Balthazar, as in canon, has a knack for social espionage and he tends to retain information that he can use to his advantage. Eventually he starts transitioning into investigative work, and it's Gabriel who sets him up with the same private detective outfit that he'd hired to track down Anna.  
> -Early in Cas and Dean's relationship, Gabriel asks Balthazar to do a deep background check on Dean out of misguided protectiveness towards Cas, but Balthazar refuses.  
> -Cas hires Balthazar 5 times over 18 months. There is decreasing quantity and intensity of sex every time, as the novelty wears off and it becomes more clear that their chemistry is mainly in their budding friendship. The last time is like, a perfunctory blowjob and then hanging out chatting until Balth realizes they've gone half an hour over time, which is when Cas has a crisis of realizing that his current only friend is a guy he pays for sex, and he never calls the agency again. He regrets this.  
> -Somewhere in the future they come into contact again and Castiel is absolutely mortified, of course, but it's all an adorable comedy of errors because of course it is, and Cas makes amends and they're reasonably good friends from then on.  
> -Dean teases Cas constantly about still being friends with the goddamn hooker named goddamn Balthazar.  
> -"He was a very classy hooker, damn it, and now he's a perfectly respectable detective." "Private dick." "No one really says that!" "Just did"
> 
> And on that note I say adieu, although I have now learned my lesson about saying That's All Folks re: Florence, so I won't say it, but I also won't make any guarantees.
> 
> Now if only my vaguely Star Warsish space station-coffee bar-underground rebellion-clone!Cas AU would write itself so smoothly, I'd be in business.


End file.
